


Satisfied

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dreams [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cullen Smut, Cullenlingus, Cunnilingus, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11702286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: Waiting for Cullen in his bed, Lydia has a few ideas about how the evening is going to go.





	Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on tumblr :)

“As I was saying,” Lydia hears her Commander say from down below. “Rylen’s men will meet you there.”

Up above in his loft, naked save for her long, silken blue nightdress, Lydia’s flesh tingles with the remembrance of Cullen. Cullen, and his calloused hands holding her, kneading her flesh as his mouth explored her body with such unabashed wonder during their first time together, and indeed, every other time after that. They had been a couple for months, friends for even longer. Yet only three weeks had passed since he made love to her for the first time. She teased that the way they were going at it, they were making up for that lost time.

“Would you prefer we go slower?” he teased her two days afterward, tangled in silks of her bed sheet.

Her answer was another searing kiss as she locked her arms around him.

Since their new arrangements, she had been even more reluctant to leave Skyhold. There was urgent business in the Graves however, business that kept her away for two weeks. The only comfort she had then was her hand, alone in her tent at night. Relief always came when she thought of Cullen, calling her name in his loft, low and strangled moans as he too pleasured himself.

Thankfully though, the business had concluded. She had come back that morning, Cullen waiting for her in the stables. She wanted to keep him there for far longer, but duty only permitted the two of them a few moments of stolen kisses. “I’ll be waiting later,” she whispered in his ear afterward. Her promise.  
Now she lays in his bed, waiting, and with more than a few ideas about how this evening is going to go.

At last she hears the soldiers depart, and she hears Cullen begin to climb. A smirk forms across his lips as he sees her, pulling himself in. It is the same smirk that dances across her lips as she drinks him in. Cullen is all amber, honey and gold. Powerful, masculine, and hers, and the two of them indulge in this simple pleasure of simply being in each other’s presence. Not touching, only taking pleasure in being so near.

She is sprawled across the bed, the royal blue silk of her nightdress bunching at her hips and exposing her legs to him. Her hair loose, as she knows how he likes it, skin honeyed by the recent sun exposure in the Graves. She can’t help but run her hand over her collarbones, and then down lower, to the valley between her breasts.

Cullen licks his lips, and her eyes drift down to his trousers and the bulge that has made itself known. “Already?” she teases. “Do I really have that much of an effect on you?”

Once again he smirks, the reply _Do you need to ask_ written in it. He tries to break the space between them and blanket his body on top of hers, but she extends her leg out, stopping him. Bare foot on his chest, he takes a hold of it. She hums at this ministration, this open-mouthed kiss he leaves on her ankle, teeth nipping at her skin. Maker knows he loves her legs. He made a point of telling her that early in their relationship, and when he gives her his mouth he always hooks her legs over his shoulders, and skims his hand down them as his head lays buried between her thighs.

She’s about ready to let him have her and worship her, but she remembers the plan she’s concocted on the road back to Skyhold. Yanking her foot away from him she stands, and wraps her arms around his neck. Fingers twirl through his hair as his arms snake around her waist.

“There’s something I want to do,” she admits, biting her lip, slightly grinding her hips into his. A preamble of what she has planned.

He knows the sly grin she gives him. “What is that?”

Her lips to his ear. “Armor. Off.”

She helps him obey her, bits of armor and cloth falling to the floor until he is in nothing but his smalls. His hands are at her waist, bunching the fabric together, but not removing them. She likes the feel of it, she realizes. She’ll keep it on then, for him.

She traces her fingers over his strong jaw, outlines his scarred lips with her forefinger. Presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He tries to capture her lips in his but she moves to his neck before he can, laving her tongue over his Adam’s apple and collarbones. Nails slide down his back and he rasps, a hand tangling through her messy waves. Her Cullen is a considerate lover, gentle and respectful, and treats her body as a temple. She wonders though if the women before her have touched him the way she now touches him. She wonders if he even knows his body, carved from years of training and hardship, is worthy of this. She has understood in their time apart that he gives and expects nothing in return, worshiping her body and making love to her more than he ever hoped for. She doesn’t think he knows how much he deserves to be loved, and she will spend her whole life making him believe it if she must.

She kisses the scars on his chest, the ones from fire and blades from swords, her lips finally meeting that trail of golden hair that follows his abdomen as she kneels before him. He is in a spell as he watches her peel his smalls off, springing his erection free.

Their eyes meet, the amber and the sapphire. He has not asked for this before, nor as she gave. She knows he will not ask, as he is content to spend his life giving. But she has longed to give, longed to have him in her mouth and take all of him in. She does it now because she wants to, because it is Cullen, and she loves him.

When at last she takes him, he gasps, and she relishes the moans and sighs that escape his lips as her head bobs up and down. That is enough. More than enough. Perfect to hear him, perfect to know that she is at his mercy.

He tugs at her hair, his plea for her to rise. When she wraps herself around him he tastes his lust on her lips and tongue as the two fall onto the bed. They become a tangle of limbs and heady sighs, a rustling of blue satin that is smooth against Cullen’s skin as they make exchanges of lips meeting and parting. She opens her legs for him, squeezes her thighs around his hips as he thrusts himself in. He holds her as he makes love to her, his mouth finding every bit of exposed flesh he can find. He covers her shoulders and neck with kisses, and cradles her body in his arms, and she is consumed by him as he makes love and possesses her. He was her first, she knows him to be her last, because he makes her remember that she is Lydia, underneath the Herald and Inquisitor. Lydia, and in love with Cullen.

She stretches her hand down to her clit and rubs, the combined feeling of Cullen inside of her and friction of the pads of her fingers making fire seep into her core, and sending her body into content waves. Cullen cries out after. Knowing his end is nigh, she peppers his face with kiss after kiss, whispers for him to fill her, and whispers how she loves him so.

Low and breathless he comes in a strangled moan, crashing his lips to hers as his warmth spreads within. He always kisses her after they make love, and the kiss he gives after these moments always taste of reverence. His kisses are his grateful thanks that she would open herself for him, allow him to touch her. Tonight though, even though his kiss tastes of gratefulness, it also tastes of the time they spent apart, and the promises of more to come. It tastes of the trust he gives her, and the reverence that continues to grow in the times their bodies join.

“I dreamed of that for a long time,” she confesses as they lay sated and satisfied.

She feels the smile on his lips as she kisses him again, before he buries his head in the crook of her neck. “You didn’t have to,” he mutters. “I never expected you to…”

“I wanted to.”

Their lips meet once more. “Maker’s breath I missed you.” His breath caresses her. “It’s lonely without you.”

“Well Cullen,” Lydia begins, “maybe we should make up for that.”

He rises, that cocky smirk on his face. Then, he dips his head down, for all of this to begin again.


End file.
